


A Fool off His Guard

by HollyBrianne



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, dramione - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2019-08-30
Packaged: 2020-09-28 18:09:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20430236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HollyBrianne/pseuds/HollyBrianne
Summary: Fairy tale prompt: Arabian Nights/AladdinWhile on the horcrux hunt, Hermione alone is caught by snatchers and taken to Malfoy Manor.





	A Fool off His Guard

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fest I've ever participated in. It was fun! It made me anxious! It was worth it! I hope you enjoy :)  
Credit shout outs:  
Thanks TheMourningMadam for not only creating this fest, but also alpha reading this story, and making the lovely aesthetic  
All the praise to PotionChemist for being my beta and general cheerleader throughout the writing process  
Special mention to Baileyblueroan whose suggestion helped me pick the title for this fic, which comes from lyrics of the song 'Arabian Nights' from the movie Aladdin.
> 
> Disclaimer: I have no ownership of anything HP

**I.**

Hermione awakens in pain. Her head is throbbing, she's fairly certain her left ankle is broken, and the air smells metallic. _ Blood _. She can't confirm if the blood is hers, given that she's in almost total darkness, but there is a wet line down her outer thigh where her trousers are sticking in such a way that leads her to the affirmative. Her arms are stretched up and back, and her wrists... She gives a gentle tug and her skin is met with the cold bite of shackles.

She'd been caught.

Hermione tries to conjure her most recent memories. _ How did she get here? Where _ is _ here? Is everyone else safe? _ But the ache in her head won't let her pull anything into focus.

"She's awake."

Hermione doesn't recognize the man's voice. It's gravelly and echoes around her, making it hard to determine where it's coming from. She takes a guess and glares defiantly in that direction. She blinks, willing her eyes to adjust to the darkness, and then an orb of bright white light illuminates the room from right above her and she's thrown into near-blindness again. She can only barely make out a set of vertical bars to her right, just as they begin to shift position. Two shadowy figures join her in the cell. One comes so close she can smell the wine on his breath.

“_Crucio_.”

Her pain is everywhere in an instant. The throbbing in her head intensifies. It feels like her skull is squeezing her brain to the point of bursting. Every bone in her body feels like it is in a perpetual state of shattering. Her blood is lava in her veins. She bites her tongue to stop herself from crying out.

"Ready to talk, Mudblood?" The pain stops as he waits for her answer.

Hermione lunges against her chains and manages one hearty scratch to his cheek before she is slammed face-first to the floor. Her nose scrapes against rough stone. The chains disappear, replaced by a full body bind.

The wine-smelling man laughs gruffly. "I suppose it wouldn't be as fun if it were easy, huh?" She feels the toe of a boot jab her side and suddenly she's facing the ceiling with one of her captors leaning over her. "You knew her, Draco. What will break her?"

_ Draco? _She turns her attention to the second figure. He's still little more than a silhouette, so she can't make out his expression, but she recognizes the point of his chin. He looks like an angel, she thinks, with the light from above forming a halo around his blond head. It strikes her as a strange thing to think about someone who’s complicit in her kidnap and torture, but it gives her an idea — she needs to be alone with him. The wine-smelling man is right, Draco knows her, and she knows him. He may not be an angel, but he is certainly no devil. And even if he has no sympathy for her personally, he must have at least some semblance of a conscience. If they are alone, she could have a chance to play on it.

"I'll talk," she says quickly, although it comes out more garbled than it was in her head.

"What's that, Mudblood?" the torturer asks.

"I'll. Talk." she says again, over-enunciating to make sure she is understood. "But only to him."

“THAT IS NOT FOR YOU TO DE-”

Draco interrupts him with a humourless laugh. “I’ll not spend any more of my time in the dungeons.”

The other Death Eater rounds on him. “And who do you think you are to defy the Dark Lord’s commands?”

“I am not defying them, Rowle,” Draco says. Hermione tries to get a read on his tone, but Draco remains cool and even. “My duty is to get information, but I won’t do it here. I’ll do it in comfort. She’ll be brought to my chambers.”

Rowle reaches across and grabs Draco’s lapel in a fist. “This is hardly the time for _ play_.”

“_Watch _ your implications,” Draco growls back and shakes the other man’s hand loose. Their remaining quarrel must be in body language only; all Hermione can hear is her heart thumping wildly in her chest. Apparently Draco wins, because presently she feels her body lift off the floor and she floats out of the cell. She’s still in a horizontal position and unable to turn her head, so she watches the ceiling flow along above her. In case she ever gets a chance to use it to her advantage, she memorizes their journey- up some stairs, then a left turn, down a narrow corridor, up another staircase where they veer right on two separate landings, and finally to a door that (judging by the sounds of Draco's footfalls) is maybe twelve long strides down another hall. Once through the door, she falls unceremoniously to the floor again.

Immediately she realizes the body bind has been lifted and she sits up to survey her new surroundings. The light is neither too dim nor too bright so she can see everything in perfect clarity for the first time since she woke. She concludes that she must be in Malfoy Manor, as this is obviously Draco’s childhood bedroom. The colour-scheme is not much of a surprise, the room practically screams pureblood Slytherin. He has an emerald green duvet and walls. His furniture is dark wood, solid and sturdy, with silver hardware. There's a small carpet to match. Probably an antique, she thinks. Definitely expensive. Amidst it all, her eyes latch on to a few details that seem out of place in the grandeur- a Falmouth Falcons poster on the wall, a purple stuffed dragon tucked among the books on his shelf. They remind her that Draco is not just a spoiled heir, but also a real person. Just a boy, really.

She rises tenderly, trying to keep weight off her left ankle. Draco draws his wand and Hermione can’t help but flinch in shock, unarmed as she is. What if she was wrong about him? His eyes trail down her body. Not in a lascivious way, but scanning.

“_Episkey._”

The pain in her ankle dulls to just a slight twinge.

He steps to the side, indicating a door behind him where she expects she'll find his en suite. ”Clean yourself up.”

She shifts her weight, testing the strength of her repaired ankle. “Thank you, Draco.”

He turns his back so that, again, she's not afforded the luxury of reading his face. “I’m doing you no favours. I simply don't want your filth," he says, his voice low. “I will get what the Dark Lord needs from you tonight and in the morning, you'll die."

"You mean you'll kill me?" she whispers, incredulous.

He waits a beat. She watches his shoulders rise and fall. "That's what I said," he finally answers resolutely.

"No,” she says, feeling her courage returning, “you said that I'll die." She takes a step towards him. He seems to sense her approach and turns back to meet her.

"It's the same thing.” His voice is still strong, but she notices that as he turns, he puts another stride of space between them. 

"It isn't," she insists, taking another step forward.

His grip on his wand tightens. "Stop arguing semantics with me."

"Not until you say it,” she continues, emboldened by his nerves. “If you plan to kill me, you had bloody well better be able to own up to it."

Again he hesitates, giving her a long, piercing stare. Eventually he shakes his head in exasperation. "You're a piece of work."

"I'm not afraid to die." She closes the distance with two more steps. This time he doesn’t move. She could reach out and touch him if she wanted to. Her fingers tingle with the possibility.

"You should be." Now that his voice doesn’t have to carry across the room, it’s soft. Delicate, almost. 

"There are worse things than dying.” She concentrates to calm her breathing, hoping to look fearless. “Is that what you're afraid of?"

"I have a choice- your life or mine. You or my family. I choose the latter. So yes, after I get what He needs, tomorrow…” He swallows thickly. “I'm going to kill you."

_ He said it. _ She thought she would goad him into backing down, but he had actually said it. “If that’s all this is, why did you heal my ankle?” She’s ashamed to hear the desperation leaking into her tone.

He waves her away. “I wasn’t about to help you to the loo.”

“You could have left it,” she says. “Could’ve let me hobble around in pain on my own.”

“Masochist, are you? Well, then your wish is my command.” His voice drips with sarcasm and he lifts his wand again, twirling it between his long fingers.

This time Hermione doesn’t flinch. She’s not sure if it’s courage or surrender that dictates her next move, but she can’t stop now. She looks him in the eye and wraps her hand around the other end of his wand, guiding it so that the tip is pressed into her chest at her heart. Her skin dimples from the pressure. “Go on, then. You already know I’ll give you nothing. Get it over with.”

There’s not so much as a breath in the room for what feels like ages.

“I’d be careful if I were you, Granger. I could make you hurt worse than before.” His eyes are glued unblinking to the indented circle of her skin.

Despite his callous demeanor, Hermione can feel a subtle tremor in his hand through the wood. "And who, precisely, are you trying to convince?"

“You can’t presume to know what I am capable of.” He jabs his wand harder into her skin, causing her to stumble back as he withdraws.

“I know what you’re _ not _capable of. I heard what happened on the Astronomy Tower.”

For this, Malfoy has no retort. He barely even moves but to take one seething breath.

Hermione jumps in again. "The choice you have to make isn't just my life or yours, you know. This thing is bigger than just you and me. The rest of the resistance, all the Muggle-borns or ‘blood traitors’, all the Muggles..."

“You’d have me sacrifice myself for them?” He interrupts. “I still pick me. I protect what’s mine.”

“It doesn’t have to be one or the other.” This time as she speaks, she dares to reach out to touch him. She catches his wrist with a gentle squeeze. It says something that he doesn’t immediately push her away. “I could help you.”

He steps backward, meeting the wall with a soft bump. The new distance causes Hermione’s hand to fall to her side. “You’re the one who needs help.” He finally blinks and tears his eyes from her skin, breaking the energy between them as well.

Hermione decides she's pushed him enough for this go around. She slips into the lavatory, and he allows it without further argument. A simple _ Alohomora _would be all he needs to barge in on her, or if he really wanted, he could blast the door open just as easily. She knows this, but locks the door anyway, hoping it will give her even the smallest sense of security.

In less than a second, she’s crumpled against the vanity; she doesn't have to make a show of bravado in here. She’s too dehydrated to cry, but the dry sobs are so strong that she retches. Sleep seems impossible, as high as she is on adrenaline, but somehow she manages. Her dreams are just blind sensations- the sound of twigs snapping underfoot, the smell of a dying campfire.

**II.**

_ Bang bang bang! _

“Draco! Where’s the prisoner?”

Hermione jumps. For a split second as her eyes open, she thinks she’ll see the inside of a tent with Harry and Ron looking exhausted and in dire need of proper haircuts. Instead, she’s greeted by her own ashen face in the mirror of Draco Malfoy’s personal washroom. She turns on the tap and scoops handfuls of water into her mouth.

The banging recommences and this time she hears a rustling sound follow. She presses her ear against the door.

“Did you get the information?”

The voice is muffled, but Hermione recognizes it as the same man from the night before- Rowle. Draco must answer, but it’s too soft to make out. 

Rowle speaks again. “The Dark Lord should not be kept waiting!”

This time, Draco speaks loud enough for Hermione to hear through the door. “He understands the importance of patience for well-laid plans."

Hermione chalks this exchange as another win for Draco because shortly thereafter, she hears the sound of the other door closing. Then, it’s Draco’s footsteps across the hard floor, stopping at the other side of her door. She waits to see if he’ll try the handle or simply blow the door open, but he does neither. He's waiting, too, but whatever he’s waiting for eludes her. She brings her face to the crack between the door and the frame. "I could help you," she offers. It’s a whisper, but carefully loud enough to carry through the wood.

All is quiet for a minute and she wonders if maybe he didn’t hear. Just as she’s about to open the door to check, there's a bang on her door and she imagines his fist is now worse for the wear.

"Damnit, Granger! I don't need your help."

She retreats into the tub, curling up into a ball in the porcelain basin. Her body is weak from lack of nourishment and, for the second time when she thought it was impossible, she falls asleep.

**III.**

When she wakes up for the third time in Malfoy Manor, Hermione can no longer ignore the aching pit that is her gut. Her memories of her capture have come back (snatchers in the forest, Harry and Ron had been far ahead, fortunately), but she still can't place the last time she ate. Tentatively, she opens the door into Draco's suite and glances around.

She's alone, or so it appears. The room is pitch dark, so she can’t be sure just yet. She waits motionless for as long as she can stand, straining to hear if anyone is poised to pounce from around the corner. When she deems the coast clear, she takes a few steps out into the room.

Hermione treads quickly but quietly to the window and pulls the curtain aside. Bright moonlight floods in, creating long shadows and making the room look like it is cast in black and white. It’s night again. Or, possibly, it's night still. She has no idea how much time she's spent here. The moon is almost perfectly round, just waning. She tries to remember the phase of the moon before she was caught, but it's no use. The days in the forest all seem to run together in her brain.

She reaches for the latch on the window but, of course, it’s magically locked. It’s an assumption she had made, but couldn’t pass up the chance to test it. Without a wand, she’d have to resort to breaking the window to get out, and that would be remarkably foolish. Someone could hear the noise and catch her. Not to mention the fact that she’d have to make a three story drop to the ground unharmed enough to flee on foot. Then there’s the lawn she’d have to cross- very little cover, she’d be easily spotted, and expansive in all directions as far as she could tell. Even so, hope springs eternal, and Hermione begins to search the room for something heavy and sharp to break the glass.

A noise from behind startles her out of her strategizing and she whips around to find Draco in the doorframe. His face is still in the shadows, but the pale skin of his hand is illuminated in the soft light. The door closes after him and he locks it with a muttered spell. Hermione’s mouth starts to water when she sees the apple he’s carrying, but she struggles to regain focus. Once she makes it out of here, she can have all the apples she could ever want.

“Granger,” he greets her. Maintaining eye contact, he takes a bite out of the apple. A single drop of juice dribbles down his chin and Hermione can’t help but to imagine licking it off to taste its sweetness.

"Want it?" He asks. It's not until she feels the puff of his breath against her cheek that she realizes she has crossed the room to stand right in front of him. "Tell me where Potter is." When she doesn’t answer, he continues. “What’s the plan? I know that you know, Granger. You’re the brains of the operation. He couldn’t have gotten this far without you.”

“Harry’s smart,” she argues. 

“Not like you are,” he counters. There’s a moment as she watches him swallow where she thinks they both register that he’s just paid her a compliment. He shifts his eyes as if it has suddenly become painful to look at her.

“I suppose,” she says, showing a little careful modesty. “What could I do with all that intelligence? I could help you. Get you out of this war. Figure out a way to end the whole damn thing.”

Draco’s jaw tenses and she wonders if he’s actually considering it. Then, he backs fully out of the swath of moonlight. He never answers. He, and the apple, leave her alone again.

_ He's going to starve me here in solitary confinement_. 

She doesn't have enough energy to be sufficiently angry. She's getting lightheaded and her vision is swarmed with dark specks. She manages to make it to the bed, passing out just as she reaches the soft mattress.

**IV.**

"You're in my bed."

When Hermione comes to, Draco is leaning over her. The blond fringe that she once thought looked like a halo is hanging around his eyes in disarray. Before she can stop herself, she reaches up to push it behind his ear. 

"I'm sorry," she says. Her tongue feels dull and numb, and her words come out slurred. "There's room for you, too."

Draco's cheeks flush pink. "Granger, you're delirious." He looks her up and down and, this time, Hermione can feel heat behind his eyes. "And filthy. I thought I told you to bathe."

"Sorry, I…" she tries again. Her head is still a mess, throbbing and demanding sustenance. "You could help me." _ Is that what she meant to say? _ It seems backwards, but she can't seem to correct it. Draco watches her for a moment, then stands with a sigh. She thinks he'll leave her alone again, let her unravel in this fancy prison, but then she's in his arms, cradled against his chest. He's strong, she can feel his lean muscles through his button-down. His body is harder and more angular than the softness of the mattress, but somehow still as comforting. He carries her across the room and deposits her in the shower, switching the water on before he leaves. She thinks maybe she should strip now and take a real shower, but her clothes are already soaked. Anyway, they’re dirty, too, so she just stands under the water, collecting a pool of mud at her feet.

After a few minutes, Draco returns. He takes one look at the brown puddle underneath her and sighs again. She wonders briefly if he’s thinking about her blood, whether he still believes it’s as muddy as her trainers. If he’s thinking anything along those lines, he doesn’t voice it. He turns off the tap, dries her instantly with a spell, and drags her back to his bed. Clean sheets, she notices.

"Here." He thrusts an apple in her direction. She doesn't question him and seizes the apple, devouring it in three bites. When she's down to the core, she notices a tray with more food on the side table- tea and biscuits, a cheese toastie.

"For me?" She asks."Thank you."

Draco nods. "You're useless without some food," he mumbles.

"Don't give me that," she scolds around gulps of tea. "You want me to believe that you're being kind as a means to Volde-" she stops herself before she says the taboo. "A means to his ends. But I don’t believe that's where your heart is."

"Where…" he starts, but falters. He clears his throat and averts his gaze. "Where do you think my heart is?"

Hermione swallows the biscuit in her mouth and sets her teacup back on the tray. Slowly she reaches up and lifts his chin so he's looking in her eyes again. A moment passes between them where there is so much she wants to say, but for once in her life she can't find the words. Instead she grabs him by the shoulders and pulls him into a hug. It takes a second, but then one of his arms is behind her pulling her closer.

"It has to look like an accident," he says against her temple.

"What does?" She pulls back enough so she can look him in the eye again.

"Your escape."

She wants to ask why or what's changed, but she thinks better of it. Instead, she simply nods

"Okay."

"I think it would be best if we could find a way for the blame to be… elsewhere."

She nods again. "Agreed. Rowle? I think he would make an excellent patsy."

Then, she sees him smile, for the first time that she can remember since fifth year. It's brief, and still fraught with sorrow, but it lights up his features and Hermione almost forgets they're in the middle of a war.

**V.**

Hermione checks her image in the mirror — Draco’s glamour spell has done a lovely job of making her appear bruised and bloody. Now she just has to lie still enough to convince Rowle she is under a _ Petrificus Totalus_. Draco alerts her when he hears Rowle approaching the door and she gets into position.

“She’s ready to give up the information?” Rowle croons after the door opens.

Draco gives a curt nod. “Yes. I’ve shown her the consequences of holding out. I’ll take her for an audience—”

“No,” Rowle interrupts with a greedy smile. “_ I _will bring her.”

Hermione swallows the instinct to chuckle — Rowle had taken the bait exactly as planned. All they have to do now is catch the fool off guard. 

Draco feigns a dispute so as not to raise suspicion but backs off easily. Hermione finds herself levitating back out into the hall. She remains still as she starts the return trip. Twelve paces to the stairs. Left at the first landing. When they reach the second landing, Hermione panics momentarily. _ Shouldn’t Draco be swooping in? _ Before she can start to consider what went wrong, she feels his hands grab her out of the air.

"Took you long enough," she says under her breath. Draco has his wand trained on a glassy-eyed Rowle.

"Had to make sure his memory has me completely out of the picture," Draco grits out through his teeth. "He's under the _ Imperius. _Now the new memory will be seamless. He'll think he let you out of his control to mess around and you overpowered him."

An involuntary shudder rocks her as she tries in vain _ not _to think about what Draco could mean by ‘mess around’. Or why he would think that would be believable. To distract herself from this line of thinking, she keeps a lookout around both corners. After a minute, Draco signals that his work is complete. "Alright. We have to make it look real. Hit him."

Without hesitation, Hermione winds up and her fist connects with Rowle's nose, producing a satisfying crack. Rowle stumbles back, but doesn't otherwise react.

"Now me," Draco prompts.

"I…" Hermione falters. The sound of footsteps from the lower floors reminds her of the urgency. _ I'm sorry,_ she mouths, and jabs Draco as well. As planned, she grabs his wand then runs back the way she came. She counts her steps down the hall and bursts through a door. She allows herself one breath of relief. She _ had _ counted correctly; she's back in Draco's suite. Draco runs in on her heels, cupping his nose in his hand. Hermione magically unlocks the window and pushes it open. The chilly wind sends a shiver down her spine.

"Come on!" Draco rushes past her and throws his carpet out the window. It takes a moment, but the carpet floats back up into view, level with the window sill.

"A flying carpet! Draco, those are illegal!" She scolds, unable to stop her hands from moving to her hips.

"I figured you would prefer this to a broom," he shrugs her off. "And do you seriously want to waste time arguing the _ law _right now?"

"I suppose not," she concedes and approaches the window ledge.

"One last thing." Draco produces a cloak from behind his back and fastens it at her clavicle. "It's Aunt Bella's," he answers her unvoiced question. "She's scared of you, you know. She's gone mad lately thinking you've gotten into her vault at Gringotts."

Hermione tilts her head in thought, remembering her mission with Harry and Ron. "What must be inside that vault to warrant such a state?"

Draco nods. "What, indeed."

Hermione turns to exit through the window, but at the last moment, she springs back and kisses him. She does it quickly, so she can't overthink or change her mind, and the result is that she's a little more forceful than she meant to be. She misses her mark just a touch. He recoils, and his hand returns to his nose.

"Sorry, I…"

"It's okay," he says quietly, and Hermione swears he's smiling again behind his hand. "I think I'll live."

He's teasing, but with the times they're in, they both pause. What if he _ doesn't _ live, she thinks. What if _ she _doesn't?

"Well, just in case, then. A proper goodbye." She leans in, slower this time, gentler. She catches him square on the mouth. She tries not to dwell on why she's doing this, just that it feels right. He responds just as softly, unexpectedly sweet.

Another noise from down the hall breaks them apart.

"Go!" He shoves her out the window and she lands clumsily sprawled on the carpet. She flies off into the moonlight as fast as she can manage. She can't chance a glance back, she tells herself, she must focus on finding Harry and Ron. When they finish this thing, when they _ win, _then she'll remember the kiss. And if she's really lucky, she'll get to repeat it.


End file.
